


Metamorphosis

by Rigel99



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:43:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4740092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigel99/pseuds/Rigel99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Metamorphosis: ˌmɛtəˈmɔːfəsɪs,ˌmɛtəmɔːˈfəʊsɪs/<br/>The process of transformation from an immature form to an adult form in two or more distinct stages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

A man in possession of a specific skillset is duty-bound to apply those skills as he sees fit in order to make the world a better place. The world being as imperfect as it is, required one to take such duties seriously. There is no room for error.

Dr Hannibal Lecter is one such duty-bound man.

In this world, there are givers and there are takers; there are those who are possessed and those who possess; there is prey and there are predators.

Dr Hannibal Lecter is the latter in all examples of the above. 

Defined and absolute as he is, even so, he takes nothing for granted. To do such, would be an insult to the beautiful gift of metamorphosis that is life in its purest form, form defined and shaped by evolution. Evolution within a single lifespan. Of course, not everyone is equipped with the necessary insights to capitalise on this gift. Hannibal had been basking for some time in the perfection of his transformation, embracing, extracting and redefining life, transmuting each experience into a higher plane of existence.

But…

To be presented with the opportunity to observe his own experience with objective eyes after the fact was an even rarer gift. 

That gift arrived in his life in the incomplete, yet to be perfected form, of Will Graham.


	2. Chapter 2

The array of the senses are an experience unique to the individual. Following distinctive neural pathways, those parts of our brain exposed to sensory infiltration, can reignite memories, fuel need, heighten desire or enhance distain. Most people utilise their senses within a very well and narrowly-defined spectrum. Whether this is because they lack awareness of these senses, or they subconsciously choose not to utilise them to the best of their ability for fear of becoming overwhelmed by the induced responses, is a matter for debate.

Hannibal Lecter, however, harbours no such fears. His senses operate well outside such defined spectrums, willingly exploring the infra and ultra qualities they have to offer, to one of a mind more than equipped to deal with the potential onslaught. Furthermore, he could translate the information gleaned into a thoroughly useful set of parameters and use said derived parameters to apply a method that would provide the desired result.

It had taken all his skills in that area, a deal of patience, a renewed understanding of self and a brief return to his pre-metamorphic self in order to successfully penetrate the psyche of Will Graham, with little or no sacrifice of his purity of self. It was simply the inevitable result of a tried and tested methodology. One might consider it quite an achievement. But Hannibal was not one for pride. Pride was a weakness, and weakness was for the foolish and the dead. 

What Hannibal Lecter had not factored into his methodology, however, was the possible outcome of falling in love with the object of his observational experiment.

He recognised quite early in their relationship, that someone of the character of Will Graham could easily corrupt the singular clarity with which he treated his acquaintances, his patients, his sustenance. He prepared for this.

He recognised the vulnerability in Will that might one time in the future, remind Hannibal that he was hungry for more than the sustenance of mind that Will was so capable of providing. He prepared for this also.

What he had not prepared for  - an oversight for which he would severely chide himself later - was the truly dark nature of Will’s inherent empathy and how it dangerously infiltrated his own darkness. The ebb and flow between them, while hastening Will’s metamorphosis was simultaneously, nudging from their post-metamorphic slumber, parts of Hannibal he had long since laid to rest.

It was thrilling. He had only felt so alive in another human’s company when he was bringing that life to its end.

So now, two years after their first fateful meeting, Hannibal finds himself standing leaning into the welcoming embrace of Will Graham, who is resting his body against the desk in the Doctor’s opulent office, both men wondering if the moment was real or it was some self-induced hallucination that they employed on occasion to escape the mundanity of a world designed to serve the purpose of those who know they belong somewhere else…

“God…”

Hannibal felt a mild warmth coil in the base of his spine and permitted the briefest of smiles to ghost across the lips that hovered threateningly over Will’s throat. He may not be one for the indulging of such frivolous thought but Hannibal considered the sound of his name in worship drifting from Will Graham's lips must elicit a similar response in a deaf man hearing music for the first time.

He planned on this moment being a first of many...


	3. Chapter 3

The room is black. Impenetrably so.

But it is not the darkness which he has known since the release provided by his first kill. That darkness was his and his alone. A darkness in which to revel, a peaceful solitude from which not even light could escape, devoured by a greedy, insatiable need. The price of a universe perpetually striving for balance, respite from the chaos it has brought upon itself.

This room is black. But the darkness harbours warmth. Not at all to what Hannibal is accustomed. It is unsettling but fear is absent. Something familiar lingers there, just out of reach. The sensory deprivation of his sight, heightens all others to razor sharp.

This darkness belongs to someone else.

“Hannibal…”

His name is whispered cool breath at the back of his neck. He closes his eyes and steps forward. Beneath bare feet, the warmth of a deer pelt gently undulates, alive, but not. The darkness presses on his shoulders, gently forcing him, face down, into the pelt’s sensual caress.

Why does he feel so safe?

Tapered fingers find the small of his back, travel gently up his spine and back down either side of his warm body. The pelt ripples beneath him, its dip and rise manoeuvering him onto his back.

The hands that caressed his back, now hovering just above his chest, move down to his stomach and across his hips. Hannibal feels the natural, electric heat emanating from their palms. He resists the urge to rise up to meet them, warring with himself for control. He knows this darkness is not his. He cannot let it consume him. Yet.

“Hannibal…”

Cool breath coasts the word across his belly. He is no longer predator, nor is he prey. He lies open, at his most vulnerable, basking in the feel of such worship. He lifts his hands from the pelt and reaches tentatively into the darkness, not wishing to startle.

His fingers brush velvet skin, trailing a path down to the head from which the young fawn’s antlers spring forth.

“Hannibal…”

A familiar oval-shaped face, leaned into the touch, before retreating to stand above the prone body of Hannibal. The velvet antlers ignite into blood-coloured flames, barely penetrating the smothering dark that envelopes them, but enough to reveal the walls are liquid red. Blue-grey eyes meet the fire reflected in Hannibal’s own.

“This is my darkness,” Will Graham said softly, “You, will become my design…”

Hannibal’s eyes flew open, his breath catching momentarily, while he centred himself. He was greeted by the familiar sight of his moonlit bedroom. He rose and walked to the full length mirror by his window and stood in his nakedness, looking at his reflection appraisingly, as though checking himself for any signs of violation.

Hannibal had not dreamed the likes of such he had just experienced, still vivid and seared in his mind, in countless years. Dreams were unnecessary to the mind of Hannibal Lecter. His fantasies and release well grounded in his daily life.

This was something new. 

He returned to his bed. Hannibal picked up the recorder resting on his nightstand and inserted a tape. “Session 4 - Will Graham.” He pressed play and once again, drifted off to the soft sound of his latest patient’s voice.


	4. Chapter 4

Hannibal handed Will a cup of tea before returning to his own chair directly opposite.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

He undid the button of his jacket before sitting back and crossing his legs. “How long have you been coming to see me now, Will?”

Hannibal observed as Will looked up from the steam-swirling contents of his cup and over glass rims to meet his psychiatrist’s penetrating gaze. “Six months, I believe, Doctor Lecter.”

It had been exactly three months since Hannibal’s dream. He was still unsure of the complete ramifications of such a wanton invasion into his own psyche, unsure if he had allowed it or Will had, with his soft words completely at odds with the flashes of darkness Hannibal could occasionally coax from him, unwittingly pursued it. He did know that he had to exercise patience with one as fragile as Will Graham if he were to unlock the truth of it, for both their sakes.

Hannibal sipped his tea. “And in that time, what have you discovered?,” he asked as he placed the cup precisely on its saucer.

“About you? Or me?,” Will countered.

Hannibal briefly smiled. “I thought we had agreed deflections were a waste of both our time, Will.” He rose and walked to the window. “Most especially when you are in no mood for my questions. That is the time when the most pertinent and revealing answers may be given.”

Hannibal walked behind Will’s chair. Should he risk touch? He placed a hand for a few seconds on Will’s shoulder. Will gave the briefest of shudders. Whether it was from trepidation, pleasure or dislike, Hannibal could not tell without seeing his face.

“It is probably not a good idea to extend touch, Doctor. The gesture could be… misinterpreted in so many ways. Particularly by someone as unbalanced as myself.”

“Of course. Though sometimes touch can provide a grounding we did not know we needed and, to address your other comment, you most certainly are not unbalanced, Will.”

“Then why am I here? Why are you spending your valuable time on me?”

Hannibal sat down again and retrieved his tea from the side table. “Would you consider it inappropriate if I told you I found you a source of fascination?”

Will raised his eyebrows ever so slightly.

“A person in my position, Will, needs to constantly remain one step ahead if they are to help their patients come to terms with their demons. I believe these sessions with you help me do just that. And while I know you have your own demons - as do we all - I believe you love them as much as they love you. A symbiosis, if you will.”

“I beg to differ, Doctor. I do not love or care for these demons in the slightest. Short of taking my own life, I would do anything to banish them…”

“You fear them consuming you…” 

Hannibal wondered how long it would take for Will to acknowledge and embrace them. No matter. He was a patient man. 

Will looked at him directly, that flash of darkness graced Hannibal with another appearance, mirroring his own. 

“I fear,” Will said softly, “they already have.”


	5. Chapter 5

Little changed in the months that followed.

Hannibal continued his pursuit of ridding the world of those who diluted the gene pool of humanity and Will, while chasing shadows in frustration, also sought solace in the company of the only man who, he had come to appreciate, truly understood his mind.

His therapy sessions with Will had increased in intensity, just staying the safe side of obvious catharsis for them both. Hannibal was sure Will could sense it too, but neither man betrayed any sign of realisation to the other. To do so would spoil the illusion of control Will thought he possessed over himself.

The deepening relationship only helped refine Hannibal's technique, and gave him permission to express the deeper meaning of his own existence with every slice of the knife, be it in his immaculate kitchen or in the heat of the kill, while all the time, directing Will towards the true meaning of his own.

Hannibal never tired of their time together. He had never craved the mind of another such as he craved that of Will Graham. He wished he could devour it, gave fleeting thoughts, while drifting off in his bed at night, after a particularly satisfying meal, to what he would taste like.

He knew undoubtedly it would beautiful and delicious in that moment; an all-encompassing experience for his finely honed palate. But all too soon, the reality of no longer being able to probe that beautiful darkness, so clearly a reflection of his own, would come crashing in. The satisfaction of watching said beautiful darkness, freshly born from the belly of the beast, evolve under his careful scrutiny he objectively concluded, far outweighed the benefits of satisfying his own more primal cravings.

There were times when Hannibal could actually feel the war within Will rage, almost as if it were his own, certain he was about to surrender to the inevitable truth of his self. There were times when he could almost feel Will reach for him with his mind, begging for release from the agony of suppression. He wondered if Will had done so that night Hannibal dreamed of Will's darkness, opening a door that gave Hannibal permission to reach in and test and pull at Will's resolve and devotion to his falsely perceived sense of right and wrong.

And then there was the occasional touch, each one more electrifying than the previous. Hannibal would transmute the memories of those touches into his art. This was as close as Hannibal had ever come to sharing the experience with anyone since Chiyoh. He found himself anticipating more and more, after each encounter with Will, that inevitable moment when the sharing of such an experience would extend past the metaphorical and step onto reality's canvas.

Hannibal thought back to that night. His first dream of Will Graham. He had finally concluded that in that dream he had borne silent witness to the metamorphosis of the young profiler. "You will become my design…" Uncharacteristically, Hannibal found himself hoping that there was truth in that promised prediction.

Will Graham's metamorphosis was painstakingly slow, but then, the pursuit of perfection is rarely anything less, thought Hannibal.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The grand finale (well, in my world anyway).
> 
> All feedback and comments are as welcome as a main course of Bedelia du Maurier...

It may have been painstakingly slow, but its realisation could not have been better than even Hannibal could have imagined…

So now, two years after their first fateful meeting, Hannibal finds himself standing leaning into the welcoming embrace of Will, who is resting his body against the desk in the Doctor’s opulent office, both men wondering if the moment was real or it was some self-induced hallucination that they employed on occasion to escape the mundanity of a world designed to serve the purpose of those who know they belong somewhere else…

“God…,” whispered Will.

Hannibal closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He had always loved the scent of his psychologically-conflicted FBI profiler. Now he could sense the subtle change in his singular odour that accompanied his pending evolution. Hannibal’s lips remained hovering just above the side of Will’s throat, exercising all the self-control he could muster, before he could finally, finally give him the release he so desperately needed.

“The Dragon is stronger than you or I, Will. But you know this already,” the words reverberated off Will’s skin.

“It is reassuring to hear you say so as well, Hannibal,” breathed Will soft but unsteadily.

Hannibal reached down to the hem of Will’s shirt and grazed his fingertips along his waist. Remembering the dream, Hannibal continued the movement as he glided both palms up the warm flesh of his back and down again, coming to rest lightly on either side of his waist.

He stepped back to look at Will, Will who was currently lost in his touch, eyes closed.

“Look at me, Will.”

“Hannibal…”

Their eyes locked as Hannibal said, “The Dragon’s kiss is liquid fire. He fears intimacy. When you understand and overcome that fear, embrace the Dragon and make his essence a part of you, only then can you stop him. He will kill all to save himself. When you understand the Dragon, you can walk through the fire unscathed. Will you let me show you?,” as he guided him towards the couch.

Will could only nod in submission.

Hannibal savoured his first taste of Will as he would the most delicious wine he had ever sampled. He undressed him as he would prepare his most exquisite dish before searing his flesh slowly, oh so very slowly, with the heat radiating from his own body. He basted Will’s scarred and pale skin with the balm of his own sweat. He tasted him all, biting, sucking and sampling Will’s intoxicating flavour mingled with his own.

Their inner darknesses pushed against each other, until they combined in a hot, white, blinding heat, hotter even than Dragon fire. In that moment, Hannibal never took his eyes from Will’s face, witnessed the rebirth, and watched as a unique version of his own essence flared in Will’s eyes, before reducing to calm smouldering embers, ready to ignite back to life at any moment.

Hannibal saw his own metamorphosis anew and relished the intensity of its birth in Will Graham.

Will looked at him with new eyes. “I’m ready to face the Dragon. If you face him with me…”

Hannibal pressed his temple to Will’s forehead. “That is all I ever wanted for you, Will,” said Hannibal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sincere thanks to everyone who read and left kudos. I am relatively new to the world of Fan Fiction, so it is truly nice to know people out there are getting a little pleasure from my offerings. Keep reading, keep writing.


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